In obscurity they whisper
by Ser.REnity
Summary: As he kills one after the other, time after time after time, he gives them a moment on their own. A moment to treasure. A person to mourn.


******Connected to The Darkest Place, Rising Tide and Fallen Empires, ********Little Lion Man, and ********Faithful Dis-Believer.**

******Number five in the series and the end.**

******Thank you everyone for your beautiful reviews on Rising Tide and both LLM and FDB (Too lazy to write that again.), I did not have the time to thank you on an author's note, so here you go.**

******This is the end  
Beautiful friend  
This is the end  
My only friend, the end.**

**Have fun. Enjoy.**

* * *

**In obscurity they whisper**

_No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_, they had told him once more. Loki could not stop himself from trying to remember and fall asleep to visit the memory as well as his seldom moment of softness.

Now, as the worlds had fallen to his reign and he sat on the throne backed up by eight of the nine realms; forced not to leave the godforsaken Asgard. Family dead, 'friends' killed by his own hands he was alone in time, generations passed by before him.

Jotunheim would fall tomorrow. Dawn was drawing near, but Loki could not force himself to sleep. Time was not his ally anymore- he was granted with the blessing of true immortality, not the feeble substitute of other Aesir.

But he lived to see unknown faces fade and wither away; he saw kingdoms crumble and billions of entities die solely due to age. Asgard was a realm of the dead now; everyone he had once known was gone.

Loki had gotten what he wanted; everything and nothing at once.

And tomorrow, it would finally be his, all of it and all of them.

But no matter how great the king was, no matter how powerful; he still dreamed of them to comfort himself. To remind himself that even beings with a limited time in space could have an impact.

* * *

The assassin fell first.

The beast.

The man of iron.

The archer.

The soldier.

The god.

They still whispered in the darkness.

**I. Natasha Romanoff**

Her picket fence shielded her from the world she had once protected. So how came all she defended now was her personal peace? What selfish creatures humans were, what small spots in space and time and yet so very _arrogant_.

She had vanished one day, just like that, in the blink of the stranger's eye; she had never returned. And now, as she stumbled down the sunny street to her house of many in a row, her high expectations could not been failed.  
As she passed through the garden the nameless, loveless dog jumped at her, up and up until she comforted him and she _smiled_.  
The door would open and time blubbered out onto the stairs, the man embracing her with a ferocity she loved about him.

White picket fence, facing the sun, _praising the lord_ for his grace.

In reality she had died alone, a dribbling, whining mess that could not eat for itself, could not see, could not think.  
He held her hand as she passed away, a wicked, sudden twist of fate. Dignity was long gone.

In a different world he might have loved her.

**II. Dr. Robert Bruce Banner**

The rocks bent in his grip and the earth shattered as he stomped; the air flickered and the people ran, screaming, begging, waiting for a hero to save them.

But this was a dream, a beast's last wish and they would not find a savior here. In this most brutal of visions, they would willingly stop and be slaughtered if the monster claimed their lives.

It would sound wrong and strange for outsiders, but to the creature it made sense to actively demand power and a place to use it on. Whatever other pleasures there were in the world, it was nothing for the abomination.

The muscles on his neck were bulging with blood and the adrenaline pumped with a venomous quality- so slow and even and challenging for none of them.

Their cities fell, one after the other; every last missile, every bomb did not hurt him or his rudimentary feelings rendered unnecessary by pure redundancy; he watched them go and die and cry for help.

His brain did not comprehend what made them weep, the little, fragile creatures he so leisurely stepped on.

In reality he had been taken apart for science.

Bit by bit by bit.

**III. Anthony Edward Stark**

As he awoke he knew right away the day would be a brilliant one. He pushed away the thin covers from his thin body and got up.

The mirror he faced had tiny cracks in it and the edges looked dull and worn; the carpet beneath his feet felt soft, yet icky; the light pierced his skull as he looked out of the small window.

You cannot miss what you never had; and what you forget is lost and found by another.

Sweat was pouring down his face and neck, his skin radiated heat and the air was horrendously humid. But no matter how burned his skin was and how deep the burns went, he still laughed.

Switching women as he switched clothes; something new every day, something more colorful, more exciting, more satisfying.

He laughed and laughed as he saw his tiny flat lie in shambles, his life a constant equation with too many variables unknown; he did not care.

As the god watched the mortal find peace in a place he should not feel comfortable in, his own heart sank.

They had so much more than him.

So much more.

In reality the mortal would find his heart stopping, while his own poisoned blood suffocated him. He died alone, in a holding cell after trashing a human's home. His unfaithful girlfriend had not survived it and neither did he.

**IV. Clinton Francis Barton**

His dream was the quietest, the most forbidden and the least impressive of them all. Every other needlessly selfless human would have claimed at least something for himself, a little something for himself to think about in cold nights.

His nights were not cold anymore, though; he had become a good person, an honorable man, and she had realized this at last.

In his dream they kissed, despite all beliefs they would indulge in feral passion, they would go slow. Take the time they had never had before, relax in this moment and lose their minds in it.

Another minute and the peace could be gone; not anymore. No one had to watch his back, no one needed to worry about security or dangers of casual lifes. In his perfect moment, it did not matter.

And they were one once more, the best of friends and closest of lovers.

In reality, he had killed himself with one of her knifes, in the middle of the night when she had been asleep. His blood had painted the Black Widow red.

The god took the weapon from his hand and took the blame that day.

**V. Steven Rogers**

The music soothed him as he closed his eyes to lose all sense of worry and guilt.

Her body was so close to his, her soft strands of hair touched the back of his neck and made his skin tingle as her breath caressed over it.

She laughed as he stepped on her feet and led the way for another time- a step forward, backward; awkward failures were the best to share with a loved one.

Her laughter resurrected a part of him, the incredible soldier, a part of him that he did not know anymore. Where his body had grown, his mind had remained small and vulnerable.

She mended him and his war-ridden past, she was the balm for his many scars.

And as she taught him to dance, the feel of her body so close to his still in his mind, he could let go of all that had ever gone wrong. All he had failed to protect.

She kept him alive.

In reality he was killed for an act of valiance, they made use of his weakness for justice in equality and slit his throat as he helped his victim up.

The god closed his eyes as the body fell stiff.

**VI. Thor Odinson**

His birthright should have saved him from dying in the near future and yet it didn't.

His dream, however, was more successful and suitable for his cause.

The golden halls filled with laughter as they celebrated the return of the fallen son of Asgard. But where the realm had lost a prince and friend, he had lost a brother as well and his small whispers of affectionate words as he embraced the more slender man were genuine and accepted.

In his mind, they could forgive one another without consequences and there was nothing more to it.

In reality, he was killed by the same brother he had loved so very much.

The god had cradled the corpse in his arms this day.

* * *

He kept his eyes open that night and sleep would not find him ever again. Loki wrapped his arms around himself, there was no one left to join him in eternity.

But he had not killed them... not all of them... or only none at all? He could not remember, could not recall...

In his dreams he had no need to destroy their world to get their attention.

In his dreams they accepted him after all he had done.


End file.
